


We're a Mess

by AWriting



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Clint Has Issues, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Panic Attacks, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5271050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWriting/pseuds/AWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Bucky and Clint talked and one time they did more</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really sure where this came from. But here it is.  
> Unbeta'd.  
> Universe is MCU but this Hawkeye is heavily inspired by Fraction's as becomes apparent rather quickly.  
> Our favorite two trainwrecks being trainwrecks.

                Bucky was pretty shocked when Steve told him that he was going to have to be alone in the tower for a few days. Well, technically he wouldn’t be alone. Tony was there, but he didn’t exactly qualify as supervision.

Either way, he’d only been there for a month and he didn’t think he was anywhere near stable enough for them to just leave him to his own devices. But someone was apparently missing so Steve and Natasha and Sam were going to look for him. Thor was on Asgard—Bucky hadn’t even met him yet—and Banner had left to help with the outbreak of some disease in a third world country the week before. That left Tony.

Turned out, Bucky was right about Tony. He was shit company. He hadn’t left his lab in two solid days before the rest went on their mission, working on an upgrade for the suit, and he didn’t come out once they were gone, either. So, Bucky spent that first twenty four hours wandering around the tower and trying to distract himself.

To his surprise, he wasn’t alone for nearly as long as he expected. The second afternoon after everyone deserted him, he called the elevator with plans to head down to the gym. That plan was derailed when the doors opened to reveal an exhausted looking man slumped on the floor. He was wearing a dark purple and black suit. His fingers clung to a bow and there was a quiver with only a few arrows left slung over his shoulder. Bucky couldn’t tell if his hair was actually that dark, or just so dirty that it looked dark, but it was stuck up in every direction possible. Based on the state of the rest of the man, he guessed it was mostly dirt.

“Well, hey there,” the man said. He attempted to flash a smile but seemed to choke on his words and started coughing instead. “You must be Barnes.”

Bucky’s brain seemed to be short circuiting. He just stood there gaping as the man coughed some more. There were so many things flashing through his mind that none of them were able to jump to the front.

When Bucky didn’t respond, the man sighed. “Look, man, are you getting on or what? ‘Cause I haven’t eaten in six days and would really like to get to the kitchen now.”

That jolted Bucky out of his head enough and he jumped onto the car, the doors shutting behind him immediately.

“You’re the one that was missing,” Bucky said, finally able to form words.

“Clint Barton. Pleased t’meet ya,” responded the man as a confirmation. His arm kind of twitched like he was going to wave or hold it out for a handshake, but discovered he didn’t have the strength. Just then the elevator dinged and the doors opened to the communal floor. Barton groaned then said, “Say, think you could help me out? I seem to lack the ability to stand currently.”

Bucky bent down and pulled Barton’s arm over his shoulders, wrapping his metal arm around the man’s waist and lifting as gently as he could. Barton was barely able to support any of his own weight, so Bucky basically ended up carrying him into the kitchen. He deposited Barton on to a chair at the table and moved to the cabinets. Grabbing some crackers out of the cabinet, he opened them carefully and dropped them on the table.

“Go slow or you’ll regret it later,” Bucky instructed and watched as Barton ate one, managing it awkwardly being slumped over on his forearms on the table, before moving to the fridge where Bucky knew there was some leftover chicken noodle soup.

As he got it going in the microwave, he heard some crackling and then a thump followed by Barton groaning forlornly through his full mouth, “Aww, cwacker, no.”

When Bucky turned around, he saw Barton leaning part way off the table, staring at the packet of crackers which had fallen to the ground and out of the man’s current reaching abilities. Bucky had to stifle a laugh that sprang up.

Barton beamed at him as much as he could in his rundown condition when he picked the package up and put them back on the table. Then he grabbed a water bottle and opened that for the man, too. While he waited for the soup, he watched Barton alternate between taking small sips of water and eating the crackers.

“They went looking for ya,” Bucky said as he watched a little bit of color seep back into the man’s skin.

Clint nodded wearily. “I talked to Nat. They know I’m okay and are headed back themselves. But where’s everyone else?”

“Bruce is saving a country, Thor is on Asgard, and Tony mumbled something about stealth mode then disappeared for the last three days,” Bucky told him. Barton chuckled at the part about Tony, and Bucky felt a smile curve his own lips too.

“So much for my welcome home party,” Barton sighed, dropping his head back onto his arms.

“Sorry I’m not enough for you,” Bucky teased, surprising himself as he pulled the soup from the beeping microwave. “And you don’t really look like you’re gonna be doin’ much partyin’ for a while, pal.”

Once Barton was set up with the soup and another water bottle, Bucky grabbed the first aid kit that they kept under the sink—they kept first aid kits in just about every room in the tower and for good reason. He didn’t appear to be seriously injured, just super banged up. Bruises and cuts just about everywhere.

“Can I?” Bucky asked, holding up the kit. Barton might not be comfortable with Bucky patching him up since they really didn’t know each other. If the situations were reversed, Bucky would probably say no. He kind of surprised himself by even offering to get close enough to the guy to do it. Even after a month living in the tower, Bucky still flinched when people got to close to him. Barton just seemed like such a total train wreck at that moment which apparently turned Bucky, a trained master assassin, into a clucking mother hen.

“Hmmmm?” Barton said before looking up from where he dipping crackers in the soup. His eyebrows crinkled and he looked down at himself as if he had forgotten he was injured. “Oh, yeah, guess that’d be a good idea, huh? Thanks, man.”

Bucky nodded, knelt down next to his chair, and started pulling supplies out of the kit. He glanced up at Barton as he started working. The guy was starting to slow on his eating, and Bucky figured he was going to end up passing out from exhaustion soon now that his belly was satisfied.

“So,” Bucky said cautiously, dabbing some ointment onto one of the cuts on Barton’s arm. “What happened?”

Barton huffed, and Bucky thought he was annoyed, but an amused and kind of resigned smile spread across his face. He flapped the hand not attached to the arm Bucky was tending around in the air haphazardly. "Oh, the usual. I'm an idiot and got myself stuck, and it took eleven days to get unstuck."

"I thought you hadn't eaten in six days?"

"I took stuff with me." Barton scrubbed his hand over his face. "It was s'posed to be an in and out job. Three days max. I took five days of rations with me. Got cornered and couldn't get back to the jet. Or get anywhere."

Bucky made a sympathetic noise and then moved around to work on his other side. He was bleeding pretty good from a cut on his neck. The skin around it looked angry and red.  Barton flinched and hissed when Bucky touched it with a cloth.

"This one looks infected," he said.

"That doesn't even surprise me." Barton groaned and leaned his head to the side when Bucky pushed lightly on it to get better access. "I need coffee."

Bucky snorted. "You need to sleep."

Barton made a little half grumble, half whine noise. "But then coffee, right?"

The corners of Bucky's mouth tipped up again. God, this guy was a train wreck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a decent time jump between this chapter and the last. Probably about a month.

 2.

            The breeze in Bucky's hair felt nice. He had escaped to the roof after a disastrous morning, wanting nothing more than to be alone. There was a perfect perch off to the side of the landing pad where he could lean back against the wall and let his legs stick out a little bit over the edge.

He didn't know how long he'd been up there. Hours, maybe. Though the sun was still rising so morning hadn't passed yet. But he wasn't surprised when someone finally came looking for him. He was a bit surprised that it wasn't Steve.

Clint slid up next to him on the perch without saying a word. He sipped from the drink in his hand and seemed to be admiring the view.

"You want to talk about it?" He asked casually after a minute of silence.

Bucky glanced over at him and fought the urge to roll his eyes at the sight. Clint looked like he had just woken up. There were still circles under his eyes, and his straw colored hair was sticking up everywhere—though Bucky had learned over the last few weeks that it was pretty much always like that. He was wearing grey sweatpants and a rumbled purple Henley. He had no shoes on and he was drinking straight from a pot of coffee. At least he had his hearing aids in.

"You're a mess, Barton," Bucky said without any heat. They had developed the habit of ragging on each other good-naturedly.

Clint gave him an affronted look. "Words hurt, Barnes."

Bucky shook his head and smiled ruefully. "It's okay. I'm a mess too."

After taking a long gulp from his coffee pot, Clint sighed. "I assume you've heard all about the Battle of New York?"

Bucky raised his eyebrows at the non-sequitur, but nodded.

"Well, a couple of days before that, my mind was taken over by a god. The bastard controlled me completely." Clint took a deep breath, not looking over to notice the way Bucky's eyebrows had shot up. "I couldn't stop myself. I killed people that were my allies. People I worked with. And a good friend of mine died too. And it was all my fault. Because I let my mind get hijacked."

Clint was talking really fast. Forcing the words out before he could convince himself not to, Bucky supposed. Bucky had unconsciously turned his body to face Clint. He had no idea why the man was opening up to him about this. But if Clint wanted to talk, he would listen.

"Ever since then I've never felt quite the same," Clint continued, staring intently into his coffee. "Like...like there's this thing just at the edge of my brain. Waiting to take over again, you know? I thought it would go away with time. I thought I would be able to... Be myself again. But now I'm not sure I'll ever really get to be the man I was before. And it fucking sucks."

Bucky didn't know what to say. He had heard all about the battle of New York but nothing about this. He suddenly felt like he understood the archer so much better.

"Look." Clint turned just slightly to meet Bucky's eyes after a minute. The seriousness in Clint's light brown gaze surprised him a bit. "I'm not saying...I could never understand what you've dealt with. And I'm not trying to say that I do.  But maybe...maybe I can empathize a little bit more than...others."

Bucky knew he had cut himself off from saying Steve. But he was right. This was exactly the problem. Steve could never understand the things Bucky had lived through.

Clint let him sit in silence after that. Bucky just looked back out at the skyline, the sun reflecting off the water in the distance.

"It's my arm," Bucky started quietly. "Steve acts like I'm the same person I was before the war. But I ain't. All that shit that happened. That happened to me. Not some separate Winter Soldier. He can't take part of my life away from me like..."

"Like they did?" Clint prompted.

Bucky winced and nodded. "Stevie just wants to pretend like it never happened. He won't even look at my arm because it's this reminder of it all, I guess. So this morning, when I punched the wall with it..."

Clint nodded when Bucky looked at him. "You were reminding him."

"He was doing it again. Talking 'bout the Soldier. Trying to separate me from him. And I just...lost it."

Clint shoved the coffee pot into his hands. Bucky huffed a little laugh but took it and drank from it.

"So yeah, your methods were maybe not the best," Clint said. "But what you're saying is valid. I get it. You've got a lot goin' on in your head."

Bucky grunted in agreement. That was an understatement.

He looked up in surprise when a hand came to rest on his shoulder. Clint had turned his torso totally towards him. "You need to talk to Steve about it. He needs to know how you feel and he's never gonna be able to correct himself if he don't know."

"I'm not good with this shit." Bucky pulled his knees up to his chest. "Talking about feelings and whatever."

"You told it to me pretty good. Just tell him what you told me."

Bucky shrugged noncommittally and dropped his forehead onto his knees.

"Steve wants to help, Buck," Clint said, squeezing Bucky's shoulder before letting go. "You gotta give the guy a chance to do that."

"You're right," Bucky admitted. The smile Clint gave him was blinding and made Bucky's heart clench.

"I usually am, Barnes. I usually am."


	3. Chapter 3

3\.           

            Bucky was headed up the stairs from the communal floor to Steve’s floor. The day had dragged on so long, and he thought he might be tired enough to actually get a few hours of sleep without any nightmares. As he turned the corner to the next flight of stairs, he was surprised to see Clint sitting on one of the steps, holding his head in his hands.

            “What’s the matter with you, Barton?” Bucky asked as he approached. But the archer didn’t respond. He didn’t even look up or make a sarcastic comment. Bucky stopped in confusion. “Clint? What’s up, man?”

            All at once Bucky noticed the way Clint was shaking just slightly. He heard the faint, desperate mumbling and realized that the archer wasn’t just holding his head. His fingers were clutched tightly in his hair. Bucky recognized exactly what was happening. It happened to himself enough that he should. Panic attack.

            Approaching slowly, he crouched in front of Clint. The man’s gaze was solidly on the ground. “Hey, listen to me. It’s Bucky. You’re safe, Clint. You’re in the tower and you’re safe.”

            Clint’s knuckles were turning white where his hands grabbed at his hair. Bucky kept up the litany of reassurances as he slid his flesh hand into Clint’s line of sight between the man’s feet. Slowly, doing his best to make it obvious what his intentions were, Bucky moved his hand over to wrap around Clint’s ankle to establish non-aggressive contact. Clint flinched just slightly, and Bucky’s heart squeezed in his chest. He had never seen the archer so vulnerable. Even when Clint was exhausted and hadn’t eaten in days, it wasn’t this bad.

            Continuing his slow movement, he let his hand slide up Clint’s shin and forearm, keeping the contact consistent so the man wouldn’t be startled. When his hand got high enough, he closed his fingers around Clint’s and tugged gently, unraveling the fingers from the soft strands of hair.

            “It’s not real, Clint,” Bucky said again as he repeated the process with his metal hand on the other side. “Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real. You’re safe, and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, okay? You’re with me, right?”

            Once his hands were gone from his hair, Clint shook his head. Bucky had a clearer view of his face now and could see the way his eyes were darting around in confusion and the tear tracks running down his face.

            God, this was awful. If there was anyone in the world who didn’t deserve to go through this kind of torture, it was Clint. He was so good and happy. Bucky wished that asshole that did this to him would appear right then so he could pummel him into the ground. HE didn’t care that the guy was a god or whatever.

            Just barely managing to choke back his anger, Bucky squeezed Clint’s hands carefully and said, “Clint, will ya look at me, huh? Look up, doll.”

            The endearment rolled of his tongue before he could stop it and he froze for a second, worried that Clint would react badly to it. But Clint didn’t react to it at all. The archer squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, his breath coming in desperate pants now. Bucky could tell he was fighting the panic swirling around him, clawing his way back out. When his eyes opened again, they looked a little clearer, but his eyebrows creased in confusion.

            “Bucky?” He asked hoarsely and his gaze finally swung upwards.

            Bucky shifted a little closer, dropping down so he was seated in front of the archer, and nodded. “I’m right here, Clint.”

            “Buck, I…” Clint’s eyes squeezed shut again, pain taking over his features.

            “Hey, it’s fine.” Acting on instinct, Bucky released Clint’s hands and reached out, pulling the man into his lap. He was surprised enough by his own actions, but he was even more surprised at the willingness the other man displayed to being held by Bucky and the way he buried his face in Bucky’s shoulder. That excruciating ache that was becoming all too familiar settled in Bucky’s chest as he wrapped his arms around Clint.

            The archer was openly sobbing now as he came out of the panic attack, and Bucky began gently rocking back and forth, whispering soothingly. Part of him wanted to run away and pretend that the things he was feeling at the moment had never happened. The other part of him never wanted to let go.

            He pushed both thoughts down and carded his hand through Clint’s hair, focusing on comforting the man in his arms.

            It didn’t take much longer for the sobbing and shaking to subside. Clint sat up and ran a hand down his face, but made no attempt to get off of Bucky’s lap or unravel himself from the hold Bucky had on his waist. Bucky cursed internally when his heart gave a hopeful little lurch.

            Clint kept his eyes firmly on the wall in front of him as he leaned back into Bucky a bit and said, "Thanks, Buck. I-I've been doing better, you know? I just...I don't..."

            He trailed off, shaking his head before dragging his hand over his face again in frustration or embarrassment or maybe both. Bucky gently massaged Clint's back with one hand, kneading the tense muscle under it. "It's okay. You don't have to explain. You know that I get it."

            Clint looked over at him, brown eyes meeting dark blue in a moment of understanding, then smiled sadly. "I know you do."

            Something inside of Bucky screamed at him to lean forward and brush his lips against the soft, pink curve of Clint's mouth. His whole body seemed to hum with the potential of it. Instead he said, "Last night, Steve said, 'put it in the chair,' and I blacked out because I couldn't breathe. He was talking about the box I was holding." Bucky sighed, trying to push down the anxiety rising up as he talked. "It's what they always said before they would wipe me. Put it in the chair. Put it in the chair. I don't know how many times I heard that sentence over the years, and hearing it again, even completely out of context, destroyed me." He smiled ruefully and let his eyes settle on where his metal hand rested on Clint's forearm. "Sometimes it's the smallest things, you know?"

            Clint leaned into Bucky fully again, his own arms wrapping around Bucky's waist. His voice sounded much steadier than it had before when he spoke. "Yeah, I know, Buck. I know exactly what you mean."


	4. Chapter 4

4\.            

            The solider lashed out. His mission was calling to someone, moving in only defensive ways, so the soldier attacked with everything he had. He didn't know where his weapons were, so he focused on using the weapon always attached to him: the metal arm.

            But just as the soldier struck out with a blow that would incapacitate the target, his whole weight behind the blow, the metal arm stiffened and became completely immobile. The soldier growled in frustration and adjusted in a fluid movement to strike with his weaker arm. He must complete his mission. It would be messier with the flesh arm, but he could still do it.

            A movement behind him and to his left drew his attention away from the target. Another man was there, yelling at the soldier. Distracting him from his mission. The soldier scanned the man quickly, making a split second assessment. He hadn't been briefed on this man, but he didn’t seem like much of a threat. Something tugged at the soldier's mind as he threw one of his knives at the man and turned back to his mission.

            In his momentary hesitation that came with the confusion of this unexpected tugging, a tight metal ring was clamped around his wrist. Not a cuff. It was thicker, stronger. The soldier tried to get it off but without the use of the metal arm, it stayed firmly in place.

            Suddenly, the contraption buzzed and the soldier was pulled backwards. His body slammed up against the wall. He pulled but the cuff was magnetized to the wall, it barely budged even when the soldier pulled with all the strength in his flesh arm. Almost at the same moment that he realized that the cuff was magnetic, a second cuff attached to his leg, preventing him from kicking away from the wall. The other leg was cuffed almost immediately, rendering him completely immobile against the wall no matter how much he stretched and flexed his muscles.

            His opponents had stilled, watching him with wary eyes as he continued to struggle. The target took a step forward and opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but the soldier pulled against his restraints even harder and a growled ripped through his throat.

            The target was waved off by the other blonde man. There was a bruise forming on his jaw and he looked worried. The soldier didn't know this man, but something about him made the soldier settle a bit and listen when the man started to talk.

            "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes," he said. His voice was familiar to the soldier. "You live in Avengers Tower with your friends. You don't work for Hydra anymore."

            A fuzziness entered the soldier's mind, the same strange tugging as before but bigger now, louder. Or maybe...maybe it was clarity. It infringed on his consciousness and played with his memory. Something about coffee and purple and arrows. He shook his head. "Clint?"

            There was movement to Buck—the soldier's right as the target—Steve?—took a step forward. The soldier let out a menacing growl. He had to complete his mission. He was so close. The other man waved off the target again until he was out of the soldier's line of sight.

            "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes," the man started again, stepping closer to where the soldier was restrained. "You go by Bucky. Steve Rogers is your best friend."

            The soldier shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to make sense of what the man—Clint—was saying.

            "My name is Clint. We’re friends. We hang out on the roof and you like to tell me what a mess I am," Clint was talking a bit louder now, his eyes scanning the soldier—Bucky’s face for a reaction. "But that it's okay because you're a mess too. You hate disco music and drink your coffee black, but your tea with honey."

            The soldier couldn't catch his breath. He knew what Clint was saying was true but he couldn't push through. Every instinct in him was still screaming to complete the mission. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed, trying to sort through the conflict in his mind. Clint's voice started to sound even more desperate.

            "You told me yesterday that you want to write a book. You wish you could remember how to play piano. Last week we binge-watched Game of Thrones and you've gone around saying 'you know nothing, Clint Barton' ever since." The man seemed to struggle for something else to say before finally blurting out, "You like to stare out the big windows on the communal floor when it's raining and you hate that you're not as good at archery as me."

            Bucky let out a choked sob as the programming broke. It was just as painful this time as the first time. Just as confusing and world-altering. Maybe even more so since it happened all at once. It shook him to the core. Suddenly, Clint was there, pressing a cool hand to Bucky's cheek.

            "You're good, Buck. We're good. You're good. It's okay." Clint nodded towards Steve who was still hanging back and the cuffs holding Bucky against the wall released. He slumped down, falling into Clint and almost knocking him over. Clint held his ground though and pulled Bucky tight against him as the world righted itself once again.

            "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Bucky repeated over and over again, pressing the words into Clint's neck.

            "It's fine, Buck," Clint told him, running a hand through his messy hair. "We're all fine. You didn't hurt anyone."

            Bucky's head shot up, remembering the bruise on Clint's jaw all at once. He took in the man's appearance, the darkening contusion standing out harshly against his skin.

            "I have to leave," Bucky said, pulling away from Clint.

            "Like hell you do," Clint growled as soon as the words left Bucky's mouth. "You honestly think we would let you leave?"

            Bucky opened his mouth to protest and tell Clint that it was safer for everyone if he left, but Clint fixed him with a glare that he was pretty sure Clint had learned from Natasha. The slight hesitation that resulted from the glare was all Clint needed.

            "Sit your ass down on the couch, Barnes," he said turning towards the kitchen. "We're going to get Stark in here to turn your goddamn arm back on, I'm going to make some delicious fucking pancakes, and you're going to forget that bullshit about you leaving."

            Bucky just gaped at Clint's retreating back until a hand clapped him on his shoulder. Steve was grinning from ear to ear at him, his eyes gleaming with amusement. With only minimal grumbling, Bucky followed his orders and sat on the couch.

            Once his arm was fully functioning again, and the pancakes were made, the disgust that had been rolling in his stomach at his relapse started to dissolve. Clint sat down next to him once everyone had been served, their sides pressed against each other in a grounding way. A movie was playing and everyone's attention was fixated on it—Stark had stuck around after fixing his arm and Natasha had answered Steve's call for help along with Clint. Bucky reached out tentatively and touched Clint's hand so that the archer turned to look at him.

            "Thanks," he whispered softly.

            "Anytime, Buck." Clint flipped his hand over and intertwined their fingers, squeezing lightly before going back to his pancakes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter! The +1 (with the smuttiness I know you've all been waiting for) should be up by Monday, but finals are happening so don't hate me if it's a little late.

 5.           

           Bucky was sitting on Clint’s couch, methodically eating his way through a third bowl of popcorn for the day. He’d been more or less on that couch (he’d spent at least half an hour laid out on the floor and another half hour with only his feet on it, watching the TV upside down) for almost ten hours straight as they marathoned the Harry Potter movies. Because apparently that was something you were supposed to do during the holidays. Bucky noticed that no one else in the tower was partaking in this particular ritual. He had a sneaking suspicion that Clint just wanted to watch all the movies and conned Bucky into it by saying it was a tradition. But whatever. Bucky was happy to indulge the archer.

            Sometime during Prisoner of Azkaban, though, Clint had started acting weird. He was fidgety—which wasn’t that weird, but usually his fidgeting ended with him sprawled across Bucky’s chest like a blanket. This fidgeting seemed to be making him draw back from Bucky—and he wouldn’t look Bucky in the eye. Bucky wasn’t even convinced he was watching the movies anymore because he was too preoccupied with whatever was going on in his mind.

            Bucky couldn’t figure out what he had done wrong that would make Clint act like that. He’d just been watching the movies. They hadn’t even really been talking that much. How could he manage to fuck things up without even saying anything?

            Currently, they were between two movies and Clint was getting a few more beers from the fridge. Bucky was leaning back against the cushions on one side of the couch with his feet up on the coffee table. It was just like so many other nights he had spent in Clint’s apartment if it weren’t for the awkwardness coming off Clint in waves. Bucky thought maybe he would pretend to fall asleep during the next movie so Clint could watch them in peace.

            Clint made his way back to the couch. Bucky could see the thoughts whirring through Clint’s head and wondered if he was about to get asked to leave. But what did he do? He couldn’t think of a single thing. Everything had been fine just a few hours before. Clint was going to drive him crazy.

            Slipping over the back of the couch instead of just walking around like a normal person (though he was infuriatingly graceful when he did it. Bucky didn’t understand how someone could simultaneously be so clumsy and so controlled at the same time), Clint folded his legs under him and faced Bucky. His eyes were completely fixated on Bucky now which was a big change from five minutes ago. Clint seemed to have decided something. But the scrutiny was getting under Bucky’s skin and he almost wished Clint would go back to avoiding looking at him.

            “Buck,” The archer started in a steady voice.

            Bucky groaned inwardly. Apparently they needed to have a serious talk. Bucky hated serious talks. Which is why he found any and every excuse he could to get out of his meetings with Sam.

            Clint ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up even more than it had been, and Bucky fought down the urge to reach across and mimic his movement. Sighing and dropping his gaze down to his lap, Clint started again, “I hate this shit. But Natasha says I need to talk to you about it. And she’s usually right. About everything. So I’m going to do it.”

            “Talk about what, yastreb?” Bucky asked. He had learned to curb his instinct to call Clint things like “doll” and “sweetheart” by calling him hawk in Russian. It was an endearment that could be mistaken for a nickname.

            Clint chewed on his bottom lip. “I really like being friends with you, Buck. That’s most important to me. I don’t want to lose that.”

            Bucky raised his eyebrows. He was very confused. Was he getting broken up with? They weren’t even dating. Were they? Tony had said something the other day about how people always said that they still wanted to be friends to soften the blow of breaking up with someone. Is that what was happening right now?

            “I’m always gonna be your friend, Clint,” Bucky said, reassuringly. At least he hoped so. It was hard to be reassuring when he had no idea what the fuck was going on.

            “Right. That’s good.” Clint took a deep breath. He didn’t seem to have any better idea of what he was going to say next then Bucky did. Until he blurted, “but I like you, Buck.”

            Bucky’s expression softened, settling into a easy smile. “I like you, too, Clint.”

            “No, that’s not…” Clint huffed. “I don’t mean I like you. I mean I _like_ you like you, you know? Not just in a friends way.”

            Bucky reached out and grabbed Clint’s hand in one of his, smiling even wider at Clint’s rambling. “I know. I know what ya meant. I like you too.”

            The archer froze, staring at Bucky in confusion. “You do?”

            “Yeah.” Bucky held back his laughter, but couldn’t really stop his shoulders from shaking slightly. “I do. Is that so hard to believe?”

            Clint’s confused eyes fell to where Bucky had intertwined their fingers. “I just…wasn’t expecting that.”

            “What were ya expecting, then?” Bucky asked, scooting closer to Clint. He wanted to throw his arms around the other man and cheer from relief that he hadn’t done anything wrong. All the awkwardness was just Clint being an idiot and not realizing that Bucky liked him.

            Clint smiled ruefully. “I was going to consider it a success if you didn’t run for the hills.”

            Scoffing, Bucky squeezed Clint’s hand tighter. “You’re real dumb. You know that, Barton?”

            Clint looked up and when their eyes met, Bucky let the grin which had been threatening to come to the surface since Clint first admitted to liking him take over. He couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled that broadly.

            Clint huffed in annoyance, but smiled back. “Could ya maybe try not to take so much pleasure from my awkwardness?”

            “Definitely not,” Bucky replied happily, leaning toward the archer slightly.

            “Asshole,” Clint said, his grin growing even wider and raising his chin in invitation, making Bucky’s breath catch. Bucky was having a hard time believing this wasn’t a dream. He considered pinching himself. But then decided that if it was a dream, he better take advantage of it.

            “You like me anyway.” Bucky punctuated his words by bringing their lips together softly. Clint added his own pressure to the kiss immediately, his hand slipping around the back of Bucky’s head to hold him in place, and god, that felt right.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this chapter ended up being almost three times longer than all of the other chapters. Oops?  
> Well, anyway, here it is! The last chapter!

+1

            Bucky hadn’t really put much store in the idea that absence makes the heart grow fonder. But then Clint went on an extended extraction mission. Some scientist needed to get out of some dangerous country and the Avengers were trying to play nice with Coulson and SHIELD so Clint and Natasha had gone along to help out. Between worrying about Clint and missing Clint and wondering where Clint was—two video calls over two weeks really wasn’t enough—Bucky had realized something. He was in love.

            Which scared the fuck out of him.

            It had only been a few months since the night of Harry Potter and first kisses, and in Bucky’s opinion, definitely not long enough for confessions of love.

            But there was something else Bucky had decided he was ready for.

            They had decided after some discussion to take things slowly. Bucky still didn’t feel totally acclimated to the world and there were certain…things he didn’t know if he’d remember how to do or be even remotely good at anymore. So Clint had agreed that they’d work their way up to those things. Let things develop naturally so they could see how they were together before jumping into the more intimate stuff. How ever long Bucky needed was fine, Clint had said.

            Well, Bucky had decided enough was enough. He wanted Clint and that was all he needed to know.

            Clint and Natasha had called to announce their impending return a few hours before, and so Bucky found himself watching from just inside the doors as the quinjet landed. He, Steve, and Sam were the only ones there to greet them. Tony and Bruce were busy doing science! Thor was off-world somewhere, as usual, and Bucky couldn’t keep up with all of the adopted Avengers family on a daily basis so hell if he knew where they all were.

            Clint grinned broadly at him as soon as he got inside, tossing his bow on top of his duffel bag as he made a beeline for Bucky.

            “Hey,” was all Bucky could get out before Clint claimed his lips in a searing kiss. God, Bucky wanted him so bad. But just as soon as it had started, the kiss ended all at once before Bucky could even get his hands on the archer.

            Clint pulled away, still smiling as his fingers slotted into the spaces between Bucky’s. “I missed you.”

            “Missed you too,” Bucky replied, his face setting into a soft smile. He was breathing easily for the first time in two weeks. “How did it go?”

            “Easy,” Clint said. “Seriously, no problems at all. Barely even noticed we were in a hostile country.”

            “What’s this, then?” Bucky lifted a hand to indicate the shallow cut on Clint’s cheek which already seemed to be healing. Still, Bucky didn’t like seeing Clint with any injuries at all.

            “Oh, you know,” Clint hedged evasively. “Shit happens.”

            “He cut himself with his own arrow,” Natasha elaborated as she walked past them.

            Sam and Steve burst out laughing. Bucky made a concentrated effort not to laugh, but his mouth turned upwards anyway.

            “You’re all assholes,” Clint whined.

            Steve managed to get himself under control and gasped out as he headed towards the stairs that lead to the conference room, “we need to debrief, Barton.”

            “Right.” Clint squeezed Bucky’s hand once and started to move away, but Bucky kept a firm hold on his hand, tugging him back.

            “Hey, uh, I was thinking we could…if you’re not too tired I mean…maybe have dinner together tonight?” Bucky stammered quietly, hoping everyone else was out of hearing range.

            “That sounds great, Buck.” Clint leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Meet you in my place after the debriefing?”

            “Yeah, okay.” Bucky released his hand when he moved to follow Steve this time and took a deep breath.

            Okay, so, dinner. It hadn’t been his plan to say dinner but “I was thinking we could fuck each other’s brains out tonight” seemed like the wrong thing to say in that situation. He supposed he would have to find something to make for dinner now.

            He headed down to Clint’s apartment (he had long since stopped needing permission for Jarvis to let him in) and searched through the seriously understocked cabinets. Everyone always ate in the massive kitchen on the communal floor anyway. The little kitchenettes in their apartments were pretty much just for show or to be used whilst sulking and avoiding people. Bucky found some pasta and sauce. That would be easy enough. He ran upstairs to steal some veggies to throw in there, as well. It wouldn’t be super fancy, but it’d be edible. Hopefully.

            Bucky had barely gotten all of it started cooking when Clint came in, a relaxed smile on his face as he wrapped his arms around Bucky’s back. Nuzzling his face between Bucky’s shoulder blades, Clint said, “smells great, babe.”

            “No promises on how it tastes,” Bucky replied, covering Clint’s hands with his flesh hand where they rested on his stomach.

            Clint made some sort of muffled disbelieving grunt of a noise. The archer turned his head to the side so that Bucky could hear him when he said, “It’s gonna be fucking delicious ‘cause you’re a great cook.”

            Bucky laughed quietly as he stirred the sauce a little more. Clint had seriously low standards for what constituted good food. He felt Clint mouthing at his back through his t-shirt and his thoughts immediately went back to the purpose of the evening, wondering if he should bring it up now or wait until after dinner.

            Clint took away the choice by stepping to the side of him and leaning in to press a kiss to his lips and another to his cheek before saying, “I should shower. I feel like I have sand in all my cracks and holes.”

            Bucky rolled his eyes. This was the man he desperately wanted to sleep with.

            On the other hand, Clint really should shower just in case he did actually have sand in his cracks and holes. That could put a serious damper on the evening. “Dinner will be ready by the time you’re done.”

            Clint grinned, smacked Bucky’s ass, and sauntered off towards his bedroom. Bucky rolled his eyes again.

            When Clint came back out, Bucky had already dished up full plates for both of them and was popping open a few beers. He had considered running back upstairs to get a nice bottle of wine, but decided it was too much effort and Clint didn’t even really like wine anyway. They both preferred beer on any day of the year.

            However, all thoughts of beer versus wine flew out of his head as soon as Clint stepped out of his room. The archer was wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts— _Bucky’s_ gym shorts, to be exact. They sat loosely on his hips, barely hanging on to the wet skin and leaving little to the imagination. And holy fuck, Bucky wanted to jump his bones so bad.

            He crossed the room in two big strides, surprise clear on Clint’s face that he was abandoning the food. Ignoring the look, Bucky cupped Clint’s face with his hands, holding the archer still as he claimed the soft lips he’d been missing so much the last couple of weeks. “Jesus, yastreb, I missed you so fucking much.”

            Clint smirked and settled his hands on Bucky’s hips, his thumbs slipping under the hem of Bucky’s shirt and rubbing gentle circles into the skin. “You just missed my amazingly impressive physique.”

            Bucky rested his forehead against Clint’s as his shoulders shook with laughter. “Yeah, that too. Everything, yastreb. I missed everything.”

            Clint’s eyebrows pulled together, his expression suddenly serious. “Everything okay, Buck?”

            Bucky took a deep breath. He knew why Clint was confused. It was rare for him to be so…wordy. Especially when it came to his feelings. Bucky much preferred to bottle everything up until he exploded. And it felt like maybe that’s what was happening. His feelings for Clint were exploding out of him, no longer content to be caged in his own head. It was kind of embarrassing, but he decided to embrace it.

            “Everything’s fine. More than fine.” At Clint’s still unconvinced expression, Bucky laughed, his thumb swiping back and forth across Clint’s bottom lip. “Can’t a guy say nice things to his fella?”

            “Sure, you can,” Clint responded. “It’s just…not…Did something change while I was gone?”

            Oh, shit. This was his chance to tell Clint what he wanted. Why was he so nervous? He couldn’t remember ever being embarrassed about sex before. But, he reasoned to himself, it had never been with Clint before. And Clint was entirely new territory for Bucky.

            He took a deep breath. What should he say? Blurt it out? I wanna fuck you into the mattress. Seemed crass given the depth of the feeling going into it. But making love implied, well, love and he had already decided that he wasn’t going there yet. It was too early.

            Clint quirked an eyebrow, still waiting on Bucky’s answer. That’s when Bucky got an idea. Maybe he didn’t have to say anything at all.

            Food completely forgotten on the table, Bucky leaned in and slanted their mouths together again. He could tell Clint wasn’t happy about not getting an answer, but the archer didn’t exactly fight him, either. As the intensity of the kiss grew, Bucky let one hand slip into Clint’s hair, sifting through the soft strands gently, and the other hand wrapped around Clint’s waist, pulling lightly until their bodies were flush against each other.

            Clint moaned into the kiss when Bucky sucked on his bottom lip and allowed himself to be led towards the couch without breaking the kiss. Bucky sat down, hands going to Clint’s hips, sighing in relief when Clint followed his unspoken direction and straddled his lap.

            Ghosting his fingers across Bucky’s jaw, Clint smiled affectionately, kind of like Bucky was a silly puppy. “What has gotten into ya tonight, huh?”

            Bucky gripped his hips tighter and trailed kisses down his neck then across his collarbone before letting his mouth hover over one of Clint’s larger scars and whispering, “I want you.”

            Clint stilled in his hands, not even breathing. When Bucky lifted his gaze to meet Clint’s again, the archer was watching him with wide, surprised eyes. He pressed another kiss again scarred flesh without breaking eye contact.

            The kiss seemed to shake Clint out of his surprised trance, and he asked, “Really? Are you sure?”

            “Yes, yastreb,” Bucky murmured, his lips not pausing as the continued their exploration of the bare expanse of muscle in front of him and his hands massaging Clint’s back lightly. “Want you so much.”

            Insistent hands cupped his face and forced it back up. The kiss was dirty and passionate and full of unhindered affection (because he refused to use the l word yet). Clint’s tongue dipped into his mouth, brushing against his own and flicking against his teeth.

            Bucky suddenly felt like he was wearing far too many clothes. He pulled back with a hand on Clint’s chest when the archer chased his lips before pulling the thin t-shirt over his head. Clint’s grin sent his heart into overdrive. He loved that grin. He loved that face.

            “Fuck, I love you,” he blurted. And then froze, his eyes going wide in surprise at his own declaration. Shit shit shit. He had _not_ meant to say that.

            To his surprise, Clint started to laugh. The archer leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, still laughing as Bucky watched him warily.

            Making an effort to get himself under control, Clint took a deep breath, pushing his laughter down though the smile didn’t fade in the slightest. His brown eyes bored into Bucky’s, one single emotion filling them. “I love you, too, Buck,” he said. “I wasn’t gonna say it ‘cause I thought it’d freak you out. But I do.”

            Without saying a word, Bucky tightened his grip on Clint and stood, taking the man on his lap with him. Clint wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist and laughed into his neck. “Fucking super soldiers.”

            It’s not like Bucky hadn’t manhandled Clint before. Rather regularly he found himself throwing Clint over his shoulder and hauling ass out of rooms when Clint was being particularly trainwreck-y and very much so in danger of being punched or worse. Sometimes Bucky wondered how much Clint got beat up before he came around, but was too scared to ask. In this situation, though, the carrying felt entirely different. He had felt Clint’s dick twitch through the thin shorts when he stood, and he had to suppress a grin at the idea that Clint got turned on by Bucky’s ability to carry him around.

            Bucky, within an armful of Clint, made his way to the bedroom. He dropped Clint on the bed and stood to the side, admiring the view as Clint arranged himself against the pillows. With a shit-eating grin, Clint spread his legs in invitation, the outline of his hardening cock visible under his thin shorts.

            "C'mon, Barnes, we don't got all day," the archer teased and held a hand out towards him.

            Bucky quirked an eyebrow at his boyfriend. "You got somewhere more important to be?"

            Clint's grin softened, his eyes telling Bucky everything he needed to know about the archer's feelings for him. "Nah, man," Clint said quietly. "This is exactly where I want to be."

            Bucky's chest swelled with all the emotion running through him and he swooped down over Clint, bringing their lips together again in a gentle wet slide. "You say the sappiest shit, yastreb."

            Clint bit the shell of Bucky's ear in retaliation for the teasing, but moaned as Bucky's lips found their way to his neck. Bucky took his time exploring the curves and planes of Clint's body. He had mapped parts of it in some of their more heated make out sessions, but more often than not Clint took the lead in those situations and did the exploring. Bucky reveled in the fact that Clint was trusting him to take the lead this time.

            Soon Bucky had Clint squirming and panting, lifting his hips in attempts to get friction on his cock. Clint's hand was pulling lightly at his hair in just the way he liked, pushing him over the edge into desperation himself. He hooked his fingers into Clint's waistband.

            "Fucking finally," Clint whimpered, lifting his hips so Bucky could slide the shorts off easily.

            Bucky nosed at Clint's shaft, wrapping one hand around it, but Clint pulled lightly on his hair.

            "No time for that," Clint said impatiently. "Want you inside me now."

            Bucky chuckled, slanting his mouth to Clint's and reaching for the lube and condoms at the same time. He opened Clint up slowly at first, but at Clint's urging, sped up until Clint was moaning loudly under him. He pulled his fingers away all at once, getting an annoyed whine out of Clint as a result.

            "Patience, yastreb." Bucky rolled the condom on quickly and spread a generous amount of lube on his dick before lining himself up.

            He licked his way into Clint's mouth as he pushed inside Clint's tight hole. Clint's fingernails raked down the skin of Bucky's back and he lifted his legs, wrapping them around Bucky's hips and pushing himself farther down on Bucky's cock.

            "Jesus, Clint," Bucky panted into the other man's mouth. "You keep that up, this is going to be much shorter than either of us want."

            Clint groaned but relented, letting Bucky set the pace again as he began thrusting in and out of Clint's warm body. He slipped his metal arm under Clint's back, changing the angle just slightly so Clint was crying out with every movement of his hips.

            "Fuck, yes. Right there, babe." Clint started up a litany of praises and encouragements as Bucky's pace got faster, slamming into the archer hard enough to push him up on the bed every time.

            He could feel himself getting close, but wanted to make sure Clint got off first, so he wrapped his flesh hand around Clint's neglected cock and stroked it firmly. It didn't take long after that before Clint was tensing underneath him, his head falling back against the pillows as a hot wetness spread over Bucky's hand. The clenching of Clint's muscles around him had Bucky seeing stars and his thrusts lost their rhythm, becoming erratic and desperate as he chased his own release.

            He bit into Clint's neck at the same moment that his pleasure overtook him. When he came down, Clint was petting his hair and laughing. Bucky met his gaze, easily conveying his confusion at the laughter with his expression.

            "That was so worth the fucking wait, babe," Clint said as his hand curled around the back of Bucky's neck and he lifted his head to brush his lips against Bucky's.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone!  
> I really enjoyed writing this fic.  
> But, omg, I'm really fucking excited about the Winterhawk road trip fic I just started writing. It's super angsty and full of feels. I've already got a bunch written so keep an eye out for that very soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos make me smile!


End file.
